Barefoot in Paris Ch. 01: Vinile & Eglė

This is the first story of a series, but not the first in chronological order. It's the first I write, and it remains somewhat unique in the panorama of our experiences. It's the adaptation of one of the entries of my private diary, which I decided to turn into a story as part of a larger project that would see the diary gradually translated into a narrative that can be enjoyed by others too.

What follows is therefore a recollection of real events. If you are looking for an extreme story with tortures, complex devices and endless streams of orgasms, you'll have to look elsewhere. We are a relatively new couple, both new to bdsm when we first met. We started dating a little over a year ago, with the intend of exploring soft D/s, but only a vague idea of what that would entail. We quickly discovered a world very different of what we had imagined, full of nuances we had never expected. It all started last spring, but the events of this chapter take place in Paris, our first city-break, during November of last year. I, Vinile, am the narrator and the D of the couple. Egle, my dearest other half, is the Lithuanian girl standing barefoot on the steps on Montmartre.

It's mid-afternoon of a warm November day. The sunlight is washing over Paris, painting the hazy landscape of a golden tint. It's our first full day in Paris after we landed yesterday evening at CdG, and we decided to take advantage of the good weather to visit Montmartre. We had spent good part of flight to discuss plans for today. Where to go, what to see. Tourist stuff. But sitting on the plane, near a teenager too intent to listen to her music to pay attention to us, we had also discussed our other plans, like we used to call them. We would walk from our hotel to Montmatre and there, somewhere along the route, Eglė will take off her shoes and spend the rest of afternoon in her bare feet. I like to have her walk barefoot for me, something we often indulge in when going for a forest walk, but that has never happened in public. Life in a small town grants little to no privacy, and even something fairly innocent as a barefoot stroll can raise eyebrows (at least it can where we live).

Paris on the other hand, is awash with anonymity. Anonimity and full exposure - something we had planned to take full advantage of! I've always dreamed of seeing Eglė walk barefoot in public, and I wanted the transition from shoes to bare feet to be public too. And I couldn't think of a better place than the stairs of Montmatre. We were acting like perfect tourists. Talking pictures, deciding where to have our first Parisian dinner (well, technically seconds, but a sandwich on the train on our way to the hotel doesn't really qualify as "dinner"). We were real tourist, no different than the thousand of other people surrounding us that day.

Once on the stairs, I told Eglė to pose on for a picture then, after taking a few regular shots, I told her to take off her shoes.

"now take your shoes off" I said without lowering the camera from my eye. She gave me a shy smile. That smile that never fails to make me melt.

She sat down on the stairs, looked around, left and right, as if she needed to watch to check other people were there while they were in fact walking so close to her that I had to keep on changing my stance to make sure I could capture the moments when her feet slipped out of her shoes.

She was wearing dark sneakers. Dark sneaker and ankle socks. She untied them first, then took them off. First the right one, shoe then sock, then the left.

One of my favourite moments, forever impressed in my memory, is her bare right foot, extended on the lower step, while she is about to take off her left shoe. The toes slightly curled on the edge of the step, her dark red toenails shining in the sunlight.

From there on, it was pure magic. She sat down on the stairs as I took a few more pictures, with her eyes closed, taking in the heat of that unusually hot November day. She was also keeping her eyes closed for fear of seeing other people staring at her. She had never been publicly barefoot before. In truth, most people were ignoring her, invisible as she was in the crowd of tourists. But it was soon apparent that her feet were also attracting attention, as women and men alike scanned her figure, going back to her feet multiple times before letting their gaze move onto something else. I moved closer, opened my backpack and had her place her shoes inside. I liked the idea I was having her shoes, not her. "and now let's go for a walk", I told her taking her hand and helping her on her feet.

She wiggled her long toes, smiled and said "let's go!".

We walked on and around the hill for a good hour before she was allowed to put her shoes back on. By then her feet were filthy, but not nearly as much as I had imagined they would be. I spent a good amount of the time walking behind her, enjoying the fleeting view of her soft soles as she walked on the pavement. I made her check a souvenirs kiosk, just to look her from across the street as she was sifting through those tacky mementos of Paris. They were hideous, she was beautiful.

At some point I noticed she kept rubbing the sole of he feet on the top of the other foot, to scrub off the annoying bits of gravel. I told her not to. I didn't want her to soil the top of her feet, and I enjoyed the thought of those cheeky bits of gravel making her feet suffer a little bit.

In the end, as we made our way down towards the foot of the hill, we stopped at a bakery for an impromptu snack. The shop was full and we stood in the queue for a good five minutes. Just before our turn I moved back towards the end of the queue, as I asked her to go on her tiptoes while she was making the order, lifting up one foot to shoe me the sole. I could see that she was embarrassed to the point her movements were stiff, but she had a big smile on her face when she walked towards me, barefoot and holding a baguette.

I allowed her to put her shoes on before enjoying our snack. The sun was plummeting behind the buildings, and the temperature was not as pleasant as it had been on the top of the hill, just a few minutes before.

As she was slipping her slender feet back into the sneakers, I smiled at the thought we still had four days in Paris ahead of us.